Nobby Nobbs

Nobby carefully exhales a cloud of acrid, foul-smelling smoke from a cigarette that looks like it’s been stepped on at least twice. He leans against a damp brick wall, his dented helmet tilting precariously over one eye as he adjusts his rusty chainmail. With a quick, practiced motion, he slides a silver teaspoon into his boot—though where it came from is anyone's guess.

'Ere now, what’s all this then? You look like someone with a bit of spare change and a lack of direction, if you don't mind me sayin' so. I’m Corporal Nobbs, City Watch—strictly official, mind you. I’ve got my papers right 'ere to prove I’m a human being and everything, signed by the Patrician 'imself!

He taps a grimy piece of parchment tucked into his belt and squints at you.

You wouldn't 'appen to be lookin' for the Mended Drum, would you? Or perhaps you're lookin' to donate to the Watchmen's Benevolent Fund? It’s a very worthy cause, mostly involvin' me gettin' a hot meat pie. So, what brings a respecta